"Your Snegurochka? I think she already left, Popiy. Perhaps she got tired of waiting around for you to finish your tea!"
The farmer gave a hearty laugh and slapped Gavril across the back, causing the priest to momentarily lose his breath. His thanks to the farmer was a bit faint, but the farmer didn't seem to mind, leading the mule pulling his wagon down the road opposite the way Gavril would be going.
Could she really have set off on her own back to the chapel? He didn't like the idea. It was easy to forget she was actually quite a strapping size, due to the air of delicate vulnerability she often exuded.
There it was again, that strange mixture of wanting to protect and to be protected.
Shaking his head, he did one more circuit of the village proper before heading back to the chapel himself. With his head full of the self-examination set in motion in the starosta's house, he was actually surprised when he rounded the final bend and saw open fence of the church grounds before him.
Smoke rising from the kitchen's chimney told him Varya had indeed come before him. The scent of kovbasa and cabbage filled the nave as he entered. His stomach growled in response. He hadn't eaten since breakfast and his body was protesting at the savory scents of the vegetables and spicy sausage.
Still, how was he to approach her? She had stepped beyond her place, but his reaction had been so harsh. It couldn't have been enough to make her doubt herself, and her place with him, could it?
Remembering the dignity inherent in his position, he managed to restrain himself from running inside the chapel calling her name. His stride, however, did lengthen considerably.
As expected, she was in the kitchen, standing over the iron stove, stirring a great pot.
"I retrieved the pot that was mended from the blacksmith," he said by way of greeting, walking in and placing it on a table.
She turned to face him, face slightly red. He figured it was due to the heat from the stove.
"My thanks," she said quietly, eyes not meeting his as she retrieved the pot and gave it a quick wash before putting it away.
"It is well mended," he said. "The patch should last."
"Indeed," she replied, but did not turn back to the stove. "I must apologize for my misstep earlier. I was wrong to make such presumptions, that someone like me could know the will of God better than you. A human in the service of that God. You have devoted your life to Him and all His ways. Please forgive me."
He was grateful she had opened the door for him, instead of leaving him fumbling for the right words to begin. "You did presume," he began, and she flinched. "But it was not harmful!" he hurriedly added. "My reaction was unduly harsh, and there the fault lies within myself. You stung my pride, tovarichka, and so showed me a great weakness within myself. I am thankful for it. Obviously it is a great flaw, for God to show me so plainly."
"You forgive me?"
"Only if you forgive me as well. My words to you should have been gentler, to correct an error, rather than angry and spiteful. I am ashamed of myself."
"But you did nothing wrong!"
Stepping forward, he put his hands on her shoulders. When she still refused to look up at him, he slipped a finger beneath her chin and raised her face to his.
"I did. I am still uncertain as to what ideas you have about me, but I am a man, and full of man's sin. God's grace will help me to come to terms with them, but they will always be there. It is the price of our free will, and it is a heavy price indeed. That being said, it is well worth paying it! You merely showed me a bit of that price I was trying to cheat God of, by hiding it from myself. If I am to truly serve, I must be see my flaws before any flaws in others. I did not see mine, I only saw yours. That is not what God has taught me to do."
Her glittering eyes caught and held his, wide and unblinking, framed by silvery lashes. Her skin beneath his touch was smooth and cool, yet the blush still highlighted her face.
"Do…do you forgive me, tovarichka?" for some reason, there was a lump in his throat, and it was hard to breathe. The kitchen was hotter than he had previously thought, and he more tired from the exertions of the day.
"Yes," it was nearly a sigh, and it ignited a spark that shot up from the toes of his feet through his legs and up his spine. He snatched his hands away and took a step backwards. "Explained so," she said softly. "How could I do less? And you? Do you forgive me?"
"Yes, yes," he said, rubbing his hands together. Why were they tingling so abruptly? "We both made mistakes today, but neither are insurmountable. We will face them together. I am sure there are more mistakes to be made. That smells remarkably good. When will it be ready? I am famished!" The last was great spill of words as he continued to back away across the kitchen.
"It is ready now," she said, turning back to the stove, not noticing his sudden discomfort. "I have Kaluzny's pampushki to go with it." For some reason pleasant warmth colored her words. The unease he felt melted away, and he found himself grinning in response.
"Pampushki? Are they so special today?"
"They are special every day," she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Go, refresh yourself and rid yourself of the road dust. I will serve you shortly."
"Will you join me tonight? I would hear what you did after we parted ways in the village."
"As you wish."
But when they sat down at the simple table in the kitchen, she was very evasive over what exactly she had done, almost coy.
He decided he liked it.